Review of The Long Day Closes (1992) by Art S — 02 Sep 2017

Meticulously crafted with each sequence suffused with a distinctive kind of light, often muted or mediated through the rain; on the soundtrack, there are snippets of film dialogue or songs and unknown noises transposed over the more diegetic sounds.

This is director Terence Davies' personal reverie, bespeaking of a lonely childhood, brightened occasionally by the cinema and by family bonds with preoccupied older siblings and a widowed mum. The stillness of the moments is often broken by singing, sometimes low and distant and personal, and occasionally religious or from the heart, collectively, as in Davies' previous film (Distant Voices, Still Lives; 1988).

But the overall feeling is cold, not warmly nostalgic, but chilly and apart -- the staged and constructed nature of the shots adds to this sense of detachment. There is often pain and torment, from stern schoolmasters and schoolyard bullies - and friends who carelessly exclude.

Yet, the film is still wondrous, a series of high-culture poetic moments with low-culture British tenement life as their ingredients (alongside audio from The Magnificent Ambersons, Great Expectations, Meet Me in St.

Louis, and the Ealing Comedies as clues to decipher or totems to worship). Almost too personal to share, if it weren't for its deeper common humanity.